


Mythal'enaste

by thievesguilding



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2890382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievesguilding/pseuds/thievesguilding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaelis Lavellan had no idea what to expect when she drank from the Well of Sorrows, and Abelas is about as well prepared for human society. Between the two of them, they may be able to achieve a measure of understanding of both.</p><p>NOTE: Technically this is on more of a semi-hiatus than an actual hiatus. Don't expect regular or frequent updates, but they're apparently still happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She had hoped that, with Corypheus' fall, perhaps the Well's whispers would become clearer, or at the very least louder. She had hoped that it might all make sense, coming together in a singular moment of clarity after her enemy's death. She had hoped for many things, and so few of them had come to pass. The voices of the long-dead remained quiet, and they grew more and more incomprehensible. The words were clear, if faint and foreign; it was the meaning that escaped her, as though she looked into murky water and saw nothing but malformed shadows. They haunted her dreams, chasing her like hounds after a hare. And there was only so much she could take, only so far she could stretch her mind before snapping.

So she left. Skyhold woke one morning to the Inquisitor gone, a note left on Josephine's desk that she would return when she was able, but there was something she had to do.

The Arbor Wilds called to her, the pull of the vir'abelasan tugging like a hook behind her heart. She ignored it at first, ignored the longing that settled in her gut when she turned southward, the whispers that grew louder when she looked to the wilderness. It was terrifying. If she listened, if she gave into the will pressing at the inside of her mind... would she ever be able to leave again?

She could only go her own way for so long, however, and eventually, Kaelis Lavellan found herself in the ancient temple.

Though untouched for ages, when she walked through the forest now she saw the signs of the modern— the fortifications where her own troops had dug in, torn banners of the Inquisition stained with months-old mud and blood, shards of red lyrium lying cold and dead among the weeds. It was so quiet, so empty; the sentinels that had slept here hidden for centuries were either dead or fled, and so there was no resistance as she threaded her way through the dark halls. The ritual tiles glowed beneath her feet, blue and gold and tingling.

All of this was right, and yet....

The heart of the sanctuary, the way of the place of sorrows, was as empty as the rest of the temple— a dry well and a broken mirror, and a deep and piercing loss.

Her own doing. Her own fault.

She crouched at the edge of the tiled pool, and for the first time in months, the scraping whispers in her head stilled. "Alright," she said under her breath. "Alright, I'm here. And I am going to stay here until we sort this out, so talk to me. I'm listening now." She closed her eyes, breathing deep. "I'm listening."

She lost track of how long she stayed there, kneeling by the pool by day and sleeping with her back against the rough rock. Long enough, at least, that she ran out of food and had to hunt in the forest. She returned with snared hares and birds, and found that she was not alone.

The sentinel stood beside the well, stock-still with his hands clasped behind his back, and Kaelis stopped short.

"I thought I was clear that you were never to return."

Kaelis slowly set her game down and glanced over to her staff— lying on the far side of the well. "You also said that the Well wasn't 'for' any of us. I assumed other things might have changed with that."

"Why have you come back? There is nothing for you here, mortal."

"I came back because—" Kaelis faltered, and Abelas turned by a fraction of a degree. "Because I didn't know where else to go. Every night, every day, I hear the Well, and I have no idea what it's telling me."

"That is hardly a surprise. I told you that it had the power to destroy a mortal mind, and I was serious. I am surprised you withstood it at all."

"Is there any way to make it stop?"

He turned and stared at her. "No, there is not. This is the price exacted for the gift. This is the vir mythal'enaste."

"Alright. I understand. Ir abelas... ah... Abelas."

"Do you? Do you understand? Before, the priests would prepare for weeks to consult the vir’abelasan. You took it with no preparation, no training, no warning, and you took it all. This was never meant to happen"

"And… what? You feel it should have been you instead, that I stole it?"

He shook his head. “I walk a different path. I have never questioned nor regretted that.” Abelas was quiet for a moment. “There is so much you cannot understand. You are little more than a child, grasping at concepts and responsibilities beyond your reach. I only fear that your lack of preparation may have consequences you have not considered.” He watched her for a moment before brushing past her towards the narrow stair. "There is nothing for you here. Go home."

"Then teach me. If I was unprepared then prepare me now. I have no other way of learning, no one to tell me what I need to know. Abelas!" He stopped and turned at the shade of desperation in her voice.

"This is not about the Well, is it?"

"Of course it is."

"No, it’s not." He stared at her. "This is about you. What are you afraid of?"

Kaelis hesitated. “Nobody I know understands what I’ve been through. What I’ve seen, what the vir’abelasan did to me. Maybe Solas did but he—” Her voice caught in her throat and she spread her hands helplessly. “You’re all I have.”

"Has it changed you?"

She laughed, unable to hide the note of panic. “Ever since I drank from the Well, I’ve had… thoughts. Not mine, but they feel so real, so familiar. There are things I feel that I am incapable of expressing because the tongue that could give them voice died a thousand years ago. And I can do nothing but wait in silence while they turn to ashes in my mouth.” She wrapped her arms around her torso, as if she could force all of that ancient alien feeling back down. "Is that how it's supposed to work?"

"No, but then, it was never meant to be taken in all at once. I know the necessity of it, but nonetheless..."

"Unexpected consequences." They were both silent for a long moment. "What do you do now that it's gone?"

"Wait. Hope that the Lady has another task for me."

Another pause. "You don't have to wait alone, of course." Kaelis looked down at her hands, clasped surprisingly tight before her. "When She spoke to me, She told me to wait as well. You could come with me to Skyhold, teach me what I need to know to understand the vir'abelasan, and I can... I can tell you what's happened since you've been here."

"And do you expect me to join your army, your Inquisition?"

"Not if you don't want to, no, but— well, bringing order and justice in place of chaos and hurt? Giving protection to those who need it, vengeance to those who deserve it? Wouldn't Mythal approve of that? And if She decides to call on us, having the both of us in the same place would make it easier."

"You ask me to come with you to a shemlen stronghold and give away the holy knowledge of the priests to one of the uninitiated. To betray everything I have protected for so long that the time would be meaningless to one as young as you. Do you even understand what you ask of me?"

Kaelis looked up, straight into his eyes. "No, I don't. I have no idea what all I have asked you to give me, and that is the problem. That anyone would ask this should offend me as much as it does you, but the reason for the offense? The respect and awe that I should feel? I have never had the luxury of those, because I have been taught showing the proper respect for the mysteries means that they will be lost forever." She swallowed hard. "I know you don't consider me one of your people, but those of us that you scorn as 'lesser' are all you have left. So you can stay here— you can sleep and fade away if you wish, I can't stop you. But if you do that, if you leave me to fumble blindly around with ancient wisdom I cannot possibly understand? Then everything that your people were and everything that mine could be might be gone forever."

Whether through practised calmness borne of age or simply the vast gulf of difference between them, Kaelis could read nothing in his face. "Nonetheless, this place is not for you, even now. You should leave it. Let it rest quietly."

"Will you come?"

"Perhaps, if you leave."

Slowly, she nodded. Taking her staff and her pack, she slung her game over her shoulder. "Dareth shiral, Abelas. I hope I will see you again."

When she reached the foot of the stone stair, he had turned his back to her, and she made her way through the temple in silence. And for the first time since last she had been here, she heard nothing but silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you surrender a duty you have carried for over a thousand years? Where do you go from there? (content warnings: implied abuse)

He remembers being branded— the smell of ink and blood and magic, the searing pain of the vallaslin binding to his flesh, sinking through his skin and settling deep. He had been only a child, and like any child might have— like any number did— he wept. The slavemaster cuffed him in the back of the head, told him to stop screwing up his face long enough for the marks to set, and moved on to the next one.

It has been many uncountably long years since then, enough that even he is not sure exactly how old he is— but even so, the blood writing on the face of the keen-eyed young creature in the temple unsettles him. Gods alone know how long it has been since the fall, and even now they keep to the darkest of the old ways.

The others he has seen and killed, he assumed to be escaped slaves, cautious and timid things that startled like deer. But this one is different. Despite the dark green patterns on her skin, she comes at the head of an army. She hunts those who have invaded the sanctum, throwing magic like one born to the Dreamers. And when she looks up at him from under the poised arrows of his sentinels, she is unafraid. She has walked the path of the petitioner with deliberate steps, not the soft scurrying of a slave.

For the first time in centuries, he hesitates.

Unlike the shemlen witch who follows her, she respects the old ways, and when he offers her a brief alliance, she accepts unquestioningly. Shaenaris leads her through the temple halls; Abelas, silent, follows on the priests' path, watching from above. Even with the imminent threat she is hungry for knowledge, lingering by the mosaics with a look of wonder as though she has never seen their like before. Her green eyes widen as she puzzles out the stories, as if she is ignorant of their endings. He sees her palm a few trinkets— small things, worthless things— and the look on her face says that they are treasures to her. Shaenaris snaps at her to keep up, and the woman jumps, guilty for her dawdling.

Like a storm she descends on the intruders, snaring them with ice and lightning so the warriors at her command can finish them uninterrupted. When Abelas takes up a maul to join them she barely misses him, and he can feel the air before his face sizzling with electricity. When the last of them falls, she almost smiles at him before the great black bird flying overhead catches both of their attention.

Abelas races the witch to the vir'abelasan, prepared to kill, to die, anything to keep the greedy, wretched creature at bay. It is not hers to take. And it seems that the marked one— Inquisitor, they call her— agrees.

She is unprepared and ignorant of the gift she would receive, but save for the Wolf at her heel— who would of course refuse simply on principle— she is the only one even remotely worthy to walk the way of Mythal's favour.

Is this where it ends, he wonders as she takes the first tentative steps into the shallow water. A slave-marked girl advised by a human witch and a strayed god, flailing at the wisdom of those ancient even by his reckoning. If his Lady had yet lived he would have assumed this to be Her sense of humour at work. When the horror leading the invaders makes his way through the fallen temple, the Inquisitor flees through the eluvian and shatters it behind her. Abelas fades into shadow and out of notice.

While such stealth was part of the rigorous training of the Sorrow's sentinels, Abelas learned the skill long before then. The invader— Corypheus— stirs ancient memories that Abelas has long since laid to rest, of those who walked the earth and thought themselves second only to the gods. He learned young the art of hiding in plain sight, as had all of his peers who survived youth into adulthood, and Corypheus has the stride of those who taught him.

Of the others, Shaenaris alone learned that lesson as young as he. He is not surprised to find that she alone survives of those under his command. But it is not sorrow for the sentinels that he sees written on her face; all who walked in Mythal's shadow knew the price of Her favour. The temple archive, Shaenaris' pride and joy, is in ashes, and only one volume survives. She clings to it like a lost child, and Abelas knows no words to comfort her.

"It is done," he says softly. "The vir'abelasan is no more."

"Then we are... we have nothing." Shaenaris glances towards the sanctum. "Where will we go? We know nothing of the world beyond the wilds. You saw the eluvians go dark just as I did— if Elvhenan—"

"Elvhenan is gone." He knows no better than her what to do, but he is her commander, and he cannot show his fear. "We will wait, as we have always done, on our Lady's word."

"But She has not spoken to us since the betrayal."

"That does not release us from our duty." He wants so badly to sleep, to slip away into the Beyond and wander in dreams as his body faded away, but the Wolf's words echo in his head. "Shae, it is my duty to remain, but you are free to leave if you wish." Halam'shivanas; the burden of waiting indefinitely, like a servant sitting outside the chamber, is his to bear, not hers.

Shaenaris looked down at the book in her arms. "This is all I could save," she whispers. "Temple records. Bookkeeping." She shakes her head and, hesitantly, hands it to him.

"Where will you go?"

"Where is there?" She pulls her hood over her head and walks out of the temple.

He knows nowhere else to be, and so he waits. He sleeps for hours and then stalks the forest for days, unable to rest. Everything has changed, and for the first time in centuries he is lost and afraid.

The Inquisitor's return is a surprise, as is the fact that she returns alone, a tattooed shadow under the trees. He watches her curiously; there is nothing to protect now, thanks to her, but old habits die hard and he cannot quell the territorial stirring in his heart as she trespasses on the sacred stones. She walks the ritual path in a meditative reverie, light blossoming under her steps. In another world, another life, she might even have been a priestess here; she certainly treads the tiles with their surety. And then... nothing. She kneels beside a dry pool, sleeps curled in on herself beside it. Does she expect it will speak to her, she who has never learned to heed its voice? Does she think the answers will form mosaic patterns on the ground?

She leaves to hunt, and he climbs the stair to the vir'abelasan. So little she brought with her— a staff, forgotten on the ground. A bedroll, ragged and torn. The others who have attempted the trespass brought far more. Abelas hears her on the stair behind him before she reaches the top, hears the surprised catch of breath in her throat and the soft thump of her quarry drop to the ground.

Before she goes, she asks him— begs him— to come with her, and he humours her that he might. He will not, of course; Well of Sorrows or not, Mythal's temple is his place. And yet as she leaves, as he walks to the shattered eluvian to sweep away the remnants, a part of him wonders: would it really be so terrible to follow?

He cuts his hand on the mirror shard and blood stains its surface. Under it, behind it, a glimpse of a castle ancient and crumbling; a shadow of what it once was, yet still vibrant and teeming.

Tarasyl'an. The Inquisitor has made her home in Tarasyl'an, and it is every bit as ancient and powerful as the temple in the wilds.

And Tarasyl'an still lives.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine is so important. Also, there's some stuff with Abelas.

When she returned to Skyhold, it had been stirred up like an ants' nest. The castle's inhabitants went about their work as usual, but Kaelis could almost taste the tension in the air. Something had changed, and it was more than just her unexpected absence.

Josephine met her at the great hall's entry. "Inquisitor, I have no idea how he got in without being stopped, but—" She was visibly flustered, embarrassed at the slight to the castle's security arrangements. "There is... an elf waiting for you in your chambers. He has refused to leave or speak with anyone save you."

For a moment her heart leapt into her throat— _Solas_ — but the look on Josephine's face said that this was a stranger, and a worrying one at that. "Did he give anyone his name?"

Josephine shook her head. "No. He wouldn't have told anyone anything had I not gone to your quarters to retrieve that letter from the Comtesse of Val Edanne. That was three days ago, and he has not attempted to leave since then."

The guard on the door to her chambers was doubled from its usual and they looked on edge, but besides that, there was no indication of trouble.

"When I sent the guards up to remove him, he broke the arm of one and put the other on her back with a blade at her throat in a matter of seconds, and then just... told them to leave." Josephine shook her head, clearly agitated. "The strange thing is, I do not think he means any harm. I have been waiting for you to return to ask what you wish done."

He had said he might follow her. Could he have done her one better and beaten her here? "I think..." She bit the inside of her cheek, considering carefully. "I think I would like to speak with him alone."

"Alone? Inquisitor, you _must_ be joking."

"He hasn't caused any real trouble, and he wishes to speak to me. I can defend myself if I need to, but somehow, I don't think it will be necessary."

Josephine's delicate nostrils flared. "I will have Commander Cullen stationed outside your doors. If you need any assistance—"

"I will ask for it, don't worry." Kaelis forced a smile and squeezed Josephine's arm. "You worry too much, Josie, do you know that?"

The ambassador rolled her eyes. "With Leliana in Val Royeaux, somebody had to pick up her share of it."

As Josephine turned to go find the commander, Kaelis took a deep breath and made her way up the stairs, treading as lightly on the creaky wooden steps as she could manage. It had to be Abelas; who else, besides Solas, would have come? And if it was Solas, surely Josephine would have told her.

The past three months had been hellish for Kaelis. She had defeated Corypheus, and both she and the Inquisition were thriving because of it. And yet even the victory that she had worked towards for the better part of a year and a half seemed hollow and dull. Solas was gone— the rock against which she had shored herself up, the anchor that kept her steady in the storm— and she had no idea where or why. Was it something she had done, in spite of his insistence to the contrary? Was it something she had failed to do?

She would have let him go gladly and without bitterness if he had only told her why, but instead she found herself in a drowsy limbo of unknowing, and it twisted in her like a knife.

Nonetheless, when she cautiously pushed open the door to her room and saw that it was not Solas standing there, her throat tightened up in palpable disappointment. "You know, when most people follow someone to their home, they do it by coming in after them, not three days before."

He smiled— he actually _smiled_. "Would you prefer that I leave and return?"

"No— no I—" She stopped, torn between dejection and excitement. "Andaran atish'an, Abelas. I am glad you've come."

"Ma serannas, lethallin. Emma nehn garas."

She couldn't help being delighted. How often did one get to speak with someone for whom elven was a mother tongue? "Viran na lan'aan?"

She should have realised, of course, that his grasp of the language was infinitely better than her own, and as much as she hated it, she had to ask him to repeat himself in one she understood.

Where Solas might have teased gently over her request for translation, Abelas only looked taken aback that she could not understand. Somehow, that was worse, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. "This is Tarasyl'an Te'las, one of the oldest of the holy places. I was shown it, and you. How could I not know it?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Shown it?"

Abelas unclasped his mantle and set it across her chair. "A shard of an eluvian may be used to pass on a message, even if the whole lies shattered and dark." He produced a sliver of dull glass from a pouch on his belt. "When you departed the temple, I was given such a message. I thought it must have been wishful thinking only." He placed the mirror shard on her desk, looking down at it as if he hoped to see more. "That night I was given another message, far more insistent. I slept more soundly than I have since your Corypheus awakened the sentinels, and the one you called Solas asked me to come here."

Kaelis' mouth went dry. "Did he tell you why? Do you know where he is?"

He glanced up at her. "He did, but I suspect you would not thank me if I told you. As to where he is? The Beyond. He spends much of his time there. That is all I could tell." The tip of his long finger tapped rhythmically against the shard. "You are unique, Inquisitor. You drank of the vir'abelasan, took it into you in its entirety, and yet you lived. I can only suppose that you have Mythal's favour indeed. Whether or not you are truly god-touched, however, you are now the Vessel of the Well. That is why I have come here."

The Vessel. As Samson had planned to be. "And what exactly is the Vessel of the Well?"

"Instead of giving of yourself to it, it has become part of you. The whispers you hear in your dreams are like a tether drawing you back to what was, and forward to what will be. Perhaps Mythal has made you Her emissary, or perhaps you have simply taken what was not yours because you had no other choice. Either way, my duty is to protect the vir'abelasan." He nodded to her. "You."

The emissary of Mythal; why had the Inquisition not chosen that instead of the herald of Andraste? "I. If you will stay, Abelas, then I would welcome your help and your protection." Whatever help he would give her, she would take. "If you can help me understand what I must, then I would be grateful."

He watched her for a moment, and Kaelis had to fight the urge to look away. Then he crossed the room to stand before her, took her hand in his, and sank to one knee. The words he spoke were ancient, fluid and foreign, but the meaning was clear: _"You are mine to protect."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the elven phrases, based on the wiki
> 
> Andaran atish'an, Abelas. - I greet you in peace, Abelas  
> Ma serannas, lethallin. Emma nehn garas. - Thank you, kinsman. I'm glad to have come.  
> Viran na lan'aan? - How did you find the way here?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaelis and Abelas have a lot to learn from each other, and the Inquisitor really should have just been given a mabari instead.

Abelas proved a ready distraction from Kaelis' growing discontent over Solas; though quiet and stoic in public, he took to visiting Kaelis every evening, simply to talk with her. Within days he had taken control of the Inquisition's local scouting force, spending his time in the wilds around Skyhold, but he always returned in time for their conversation. They would walk the ramparts, oblivious to the sidelong glances from the humans beneath them; Kaelis spoke a constant stream of questions which according to Abelas were almost painfully mundane, but to her were as vital as the sacred mysteries he kept so closed-mouthed about. In truth, much of what he told her she might have learned from a few solid hours' discussion at the arlathvhen— but from him she gained more than facts and summaries. He told her of the political infighting involved with serving living gods. He told her of the oracles, secluded in wilderness monasteries in a state of waking uthenera, their minds wandering the Beyond while their bodies went about their daily tasks.

And he told her of Mythal, She who raised up slaves and cast down kings, but he would not speak of her death.

At first that was all they did— they walked; Kaelis questioned; Abelas answered. Then, after nearly two weeks, he started asking questions of his own.

"Why do your people wear vallaslin?"

She glanced sideways at him. "We knew it marked those dedicated to the gods, but we didn't know how."

"And now that you do?"

"I have no idea." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I think I'm the only one who knows, actually; I haven't decided how to tell the Keepers."

"You know, and yet you still wear it?" His face was torn between anger and disbelief.

"Proudly." She leaned against the crenellation, looking down into the valley below. "For my people, vallaslin is one of the only ways we can show our dedication to the old ways. After the People were freed, when we went to the Dales, vallaslin was one of the first things we reclaimed. I was given mine when I was sixteen, and that day was the day that marked me as an adult member of the Lavellan clan." She shrugged. "What you see as a mark of oppression, for me is a part of my liberation. Knowing how it began doesn't change what it represents to me."

Abelas nodded slowly. "And the rest of your people would agree?"

"Some will. Some will see it as a mistake, one not to be repeated for our children; some of us will wear it proudly, to remember what we were and how far we've come." She looked over at him, her gaze lingering momentarily on the thin branching marks across his face and those on the backs of his hands. "If you could remove yours—"

"Don't."

Kaelis stopped short at the hard look in his eyes. "Ir abelas." She looked down at her hands. "Did your parents name you Abelas, or did that name come later?"

"Later. Much later."

"What were you called before?"

"Emissary." She stopped short. "Whatever I might have been before, I became something else when I swore myself to the service of Mythal. Who I was is irrelevant to who I am."

Such abruptness from Solas would have stung her to the core, but somehow, Abelas' directness put her more at ease. At least with him, she knew what he wasn't telling her. She stared down at the glacial river beneath Skyhold's walls. "Why do you call me Emissary? You're the only one who does."

"Do you expect me to call you the Herald of Andraste? She is not your prophet or mine, and her god is not ours. The Inquisitor? A human title, so vague as to be meaningless." He nodded at her hand. "That scar came from one of our gods, as did you. You are none save Mythal's, and if any might speak with Her voice, it is you."

So much the same in what he said and what Cassandra had said, and yet where Cassandra's certainty had shaken hers, Abelas' comforted her, calmed her. She wasn't sure if he was right, but for the first time since Keeper Deshanna had sent her to the Divine's damned Conclave, someone had called her something familiar.

She smiled at him, and for the first time, he smiled back.

 

* * *

 

The Inquisition had received word of a high dragon near Redcliffe even before they found Skyhold, but as it had stayed elusive and far from the town, they had left it be.

When the word came in that no fewer than half a dozen farms had been razed in a week, Cullen told her in no uncertain terms that something had to be done.

She was unsurprised that the Iron Bull volunteered, if she was slightly surprised that he did so almost before it was logically possible for him to have heard. She was unsurprised that Cassandra came along, or Dorian once she mentioned how happy Cullen would be. That Abelas met the party at the causeway, with one of Kaelis' horses saddled and ready, was unexpected.

She pulled up short. "Planning on going somewhere?"

"What is this village called— Redcliffe?" He swung up into the saddle and pulled his hood up. "I would see this dragon before you slay it. They were sacred once, and are still creatures of great power."

The arl of Redcliffe had little for them by way of guidance. The dragon had been seen to the west, the ruined farms to the north, but beyond that, nothing. They left the town and started the hunt. After a week with no sight of the creature and no trackable signs, Kaelis suggested that perhaps the dragon was simply toying with them. The next morning, Abelas was gone; his horse was standing with the others, and Kaelis found a note on her pack: _Wait_.

So they waited. Cassandra recommended that they use the day to comb the area— still nothing, but when Kaelis found her way back to the camp, there was already a nug spitted over the fire. "She laid a false trail for us," Abelas said by way of greeting. "Whatever destruction she may have done here, she turned south after."

Kaelis blinked in surprise. "So… she really is toying with us? Do dragons even do that?"

"You've never fought a dragon, have you?"

She shook her head. "Have you?"

"Not often, but I have before." He looked around. "Do you see a knife?" Kaelis handed him her own and he carved open a slice of the nug. "Dragons were sacred to the gods; there were laws governing who could hunt them, but if they strayed too close to the cities, it was the priests who saw to it."

"Sacred to _our_ gods?"

"Of course. Which else?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, sitting beside the fire and drawing her knees up to her chest. "I told you about Tevinter, right?" The dark look he shot her over the flames was answer enough. "There gods are— were— great dragons, seven of them. I assumed that their fascination with dragons would have run contrary to the People, but given how much else they stole…."

Abelas shook his head before bringing her a chunk of meat. "They are powerful, cunning, and ancient. How could we not see them as sacred?"

When Cassandra, Bull, and Dorian finally trickled back in, Kaelis and Abelas were planning how best to force the creature to fight them instead of simply leaving; Abelas suspected that she had a clutch of eggs nearby, and should her nest be disturbed, she would fight to the death to protect it. Not for nothing had dragons been under Mythal's blessing; they were fierce to the point of madness in defense of their young.

With the dragon distracted by their trespass in her nests, she was easy to dispatch, or so Abelas and Cassandra claimed; Kaelis was smudged with dirt and blood when it was done, a gash across her forearm where a young dragon's claws had caught her by surprise. She made a mental note of where the massive corpse lay— its skin, bones, teeth, even its blood and bile could be used— and started to limp back to their camp.

The small skirring noise from the bushes barely registered, but she was still on edge enough that it send her blood pounding in her throat as she whipped around, staff in hand.

The slender serpentine neck that prodded its way out of the leaves was no bigger around than her arm; the clumsy creature that followed, the size of a wolf at most. Pieces of thick, stone-grey shell still clung to its wet scales, and it stumbled as it came towards her.

Abelas advanced slowly, reaching smoothly for the sword strapped to his back, but Kaelis waved him off. Carefully, carefully, she set her staff aside and crouched down next to the creature.

Its snakelike nose was warm and smooth as it bumped curiously against her outstretched hand; the quiet whirring noises rumbled out of its throat again, and it moved closer.

"Inquisitor…"

"Cassandra, it's fine." She edged closer to the young dragon. It clawed its way onto her lap, despite being large enough to knock her over. "I don't think it's old enough to be dangerous."

She heard Abelas sigh. "Emissary, what are you doing?"

"We just killed its mother, it'll die if we just leave it here."

She heard Dorian walking around to the side and shifted slightly so she was between him and the dragonling. "It's not a puppy, you know. Nowhere near as cuddly or endearing."

"Name it after me, boss," Iron Bull chimed in.

When they returned to Skyhold, it was with the young dragon bounding merrily along behind them, and if Kaelis had though the castle disquieted when Abelas appeared, it was nothing to this.

It wasn't until she saw Cullen and a complement of well-armed guards striding towards them that she started to really worry, however.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon can be a military asset. No, really.

Kaelis smiled brightly at the commander; he did not return it. "Inquisitor, I was under the impression that you were leaving to kill a dragon, not take prisoners."

She shrugged broadly. "You know what they say, if you want to make the gods laugh…" The dragonling bumped its head against the small of her back hard enough to make her stumble forward. "Don't worry, she's no more dangerous than those dracolisks Master Dennet's been looking after."

"Not now, maybe, but how long will it stay that way?" Cullen rubbed his forehead as if trying to fight off a migraine. "How much does that thing eat? How fast does it grow? Where are you going to put it?"

"No more than we can provide, hopefully not very, and I'll find somewhere." She clasped her hands earnestly. "Listen, I know this isn't what you had in mind, any of you, but think about it. Look at how much trouble Corypheus' dragon caused, how much Mythal's helped us. And that was a grown one that I had to fight into submission. If the Inquisition has a dragon at its call, one raised among us to fight for us and protect us—"

"It's a dragon, not a watchdog!" Kaelis took a surprised step back. "Inquisitor, you can't just bring a wild beast like this to a crowded area and—" He held up his hand as she started to protest. "I must insist, you'll have to get rid of it."

"No, she mustn't, shemlen." Kaelis and Cullen both stared at Abelas in surprise. "The Inquisitor is correct; raise the dragon to see this place as its lair and the Inquisition as its kin, and it will defend you to the death. It was common at one time; they will not harm their own."

Kaelis recovered faster and looked back at Cullen with a satisfied expression. "See, Commander? Don't look at her as a dragon, look at her as an asset. Better to have her on our side, right?"

Cullen sighed and closed his eyes. "I will withhold judgement for a week, but after that, if I still feel that this thing is a threat to the Inquisition or those under its protection, I will insist on its removal. One way or another."

The dragonling chirruped ingratiatingly at him and he stared back suspiciously.

"A week."

There was no way to bring a days-old dragon through a crowded courtyard without drawing attention.  Cassandra and Dorian left almost immediately; Iron Bull trailed after them as long as he could get away with it before the Chargers intercepted him. It was Abelas and Josephine who followed her upstairs, acting as a buffer against the crowd in the main hall.

When the great oak door finally closed behind them, Kaelis slumped onto her couch with a triumphant grin on her face. Josephine shook her head. "Inquisitor, I have no idea how you managed this."

"Neither do I," Abelas said dryly.

Kaelis smiled and waggled her fingers at the dragonling, who clawed her way onto the couch.

"Does it— she— have a name?"

"Shivenni." The word came to her automatically, unthinkingly, as though spoken through her lips by another's will. In the corner of her eye she saw Abelas start.

Josephine smiled. "It is a lovely name, to be sure, but I am unfamiliar with it. What does it mean?"

Kaelis opened her mouth to answer, but now the words wouldn't come, and when she looked to Abelas for help he only raised an eyebrow at her. "It's hard to explain," she said, waving her hand vaguely. "It's a responsibility, an obligation— one you take on willingly. A duty done out of a wish to do right. It's not something that really has an equivalent."

Josephine nodded slowly. "I think I understand." Tentatively she reached out to Shivenni's smooth-scaled head, almost jerking back when the young dragon nosed against her palm. "Let me know if there is anything else you need."

When she had left, Abelas settled himself on the other end of the couch. Shivenni circled around to stick her slender nose in his ear, the heavy tail knocking hard against Kaelis' ribs. "An old word," he said. "Not one used out of the priestly circles. Where did you learn it?"

"I don't know." Her brow knitted together. "I've never heard it before, but it just… felt right."

He looked up at her. "Close your eyes," he said, coaxing Shivenni onto the ground and moving closer. "Give me your hands." Hesitantly, unsure of what exactly he was doing, she closed her eyes and reached out. His hands were surprisingly cool, his palms and fingers callused from sword and bow. "Now, listen."

She waited for him to speak, and when he didn't, started to pull her hands back.

"Not to me. Ignore what you hear around you. Listen."

The whispers of the Well had gone quiet in recent weeks; before they had spoken unbidden, barely intelligible. Now it took only a little effort to draw them back; she had to strain to make out the words, and understood few, but they were there at her call.

"That is what taught you, yes? The whispers you hear as if in a waking dream. Voices that walk the edge between unconsciousness and enlightenment." Kaelis was acutely aware that her hands still rested in Abelas'. "What you did not understand of the vir'abelasan when you drank of it was… everything, in fact. You looked at the water and saw the essence of the long-dead. But the well was nothing more than a vessel. It was a conduit— the tether that runs back through history, connecting you to every priest, every sentinel who ever drank of that water. It is not their memories you carry; they speak to you. They are aware of you. In a very real way, though they have been dead or in uthenera for untold ages, they yet exist." He nodded towards her. "In you, and in you alone."

Kaelis slowly pulled her hands from his, folding them in her lap. "Do you mean that their souls, their ghosts, are possessing me?"

He shook his head. "I mean that voices from the mists of the past speak to you. They exist there and then, while you are here and now, and yet the vir'abelasan binds you together."

She wasn't quite sure which she preferred.

The nightly conversations on the castle walls turned into lessons in her study. Though with anyone else her tongue faltered on the old language, with Abelas it was easier; the words she didn't know teased her with dim flashes of meaning, and those she did came smoother and quicker. Perhaps it was simply the benefits of conversing with a native speaker; perhaps the part of him that came from Mythal spoke to the part of her that came from the Well. Either way, in those candlelit hours, she spoke with a fluent ease that would have made any Keeper incoherent with jealousy.

It was two months before Kaelis received word from Keeper Istimaethoriel that the arlathvhen of that year had been moved from Val Chevin to Wycome.

And it was then that she started having the dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why am I intentionally shifting tenses in this fic. Why did I do that to myself. (This is totally still on hiatus, y'all.)
> 
> Ellara Cadash belongs to armalis.tumblr.com, Lysis Lavellan to greywarden-tabris.tumblr.com

She had had Leliana's letter sitting on her desk for months now; Leliana herself was gone to Val Royeaux, her second-in-command already comfortably in control of the vast and well-organised spy network that the new Divine had left behind, but there, tucked safely out of sight under a messy stack of parchment, was a single bit of unfinished business.

 _I have been unable to locate Solas._  Why now, months after the trail must have gone cold, why now did she find herself staring at those words?  _He has deceived us from the very start._  And she, idiot that she was, had trusted him implicitly, because she thought he was like her.

Stupid. The stupid act of a foolish girl.

In a fit of sudden anger she balled the letter in her fist, strode onto the balcony, and hurled it over the railing. She had read it so many times it was seared into her brain anyway, so what did it matter?

But he had told her about his village— showed it to her in the Fade. It had been real, she was sure of it. _Who was he?_

All of this had been easier before Ellara left to talk to the Carta, and Lysis to visit their clan. Kaelis wanted them to come back even more than Solas.

She went to bed, praying she wouldn't dream.

* * *

Ceya is seven when last she sees her mother, young enough still to forget any name she had besides "mamae". Their master is dead and her son, ever the pragmatist, has decided to keep only the most useful of his mother's slaves. Ceya's mother stays; her sister does too. Ceya does not; scrawny even for her young age, timid and clumsy, she is among those sent to the market with the estate's overseer.

The woman who buys her is wealthy and powerful, one of the Dreamers in service to Mythal Herself. Ceya has never seen anything so grand as the mansion; it sits on the water's edge, and a short boat ride across the Syllan'aris from the private dock lies the Temple District. Ceya has never been so close to the temples before, and she swears she can smell the incense rising from their walled courtyards.

She cries the first night. She misses her mother, her sister, her aunties who worked in the kitchens with Mamae and Halanni. She misses the faint smell of bread that always clung to her mother's skin. She even misses her old master, the reclusive and eccentric temple archivist who never gave the kitchen slaves more than the passing glance she would spare for a courtyard hen. As fine as the Dreamer's mansion is, it isn't home, and as long as her mother and sister are gone, it can't be.

She is branded the next day, ink and blood mingling on her face with the sharp sting of binding magic. The lines on her skin now mark her not only as the Dreamer's property, but Mythal's— and more specifically Her priests'. In older times blood rituals had been rare, and while they still are, the shemlen threat to the north has brought whispers that more desperate measures are needed. There will always be a market for young, old, and otherwise useless slaves.

But none of this concerns her then, or even really crosses her mind; she is seven, and her face is sticky with blood and tears, and the woman with the ink does nothing but shoo her away and move onto the next. The man she stumbles into is one of the Dreamer's guards— a slave like herself, bearing the same twined-branch tattoos that she wears now, his head shaved save for a tail of dark hair hanging from the top of his scalp. He steadies her as she falters, his hand warm and reassuring on her shoulder even though he continues to stare straight ahead.

The Dreamer stands between him and another guard, draped in fine silk robes; she is barefoot, and her slender feet are almost indistinguishable from the cloud of white fabric around them. She looks down at Ceya in distaste and twitches her clothing away from the bloody-faced girl. "Carael, get that cleaned up." She tilts her head to the side, considering Ceya as one would a new doorknob. "And tell Josrenna to start training her as a new dressing maid."

The guard— Carael— inclines his head obediently and leads Ceya into the garden, a courtyard larger than the archivist's entire house, sits her down beside a pond and gently cleans her face. She is still crying. "What is your name?"

She swallows back her tears. "My mother called me Ceya."

"Your mother chose a lovely name." He smiles at her and, despite the stinging in her skin, she smiles back. He stands, points to a small door across the yard, half-hidden behind trellised ivy. "Go through there and ask for Josrenna. Tell her that Lady Iselanna wants you trained as her new maid. If she argues, tell her to ask the Dreamer herself."

She thought he was to take her himself, but when she says as much, he only smiles. "Our secret, yes?"

Ceya watches him go curiously. The sting of the overseer's needle is finally subsiding, and she turns to the door.

She did not expect to see a ghost.

* * *

Kaelis woke in the middle of the night, Shivenni curled against her feet like a sack of embers and the image of the dark-eyed child seared into her mind. Her mind felt sticky, like honey dripping from a spoon on a cold morning; it had seemed so  _real_ …. And something about it tugged at her memory, some face half-seen and half-remembered but familiar nonetheless.

She shook her head, rubbed the sleep from her eyes. It didn't matter, really; however real it had seemed, it was a dream, no more, no less. Dreams might be pretty, but fiction often was.

A glance out the window at the moon told her that barely any time had passed since she went to bed; nonetheless she felt more rested than she had in weeks. Wrapping herself in the downy-soft robe that lay spread before the fire, she slipped into the hall, eased open a window, and climbed out onto the roof. It was cold; there was no frost on the tiles yet, but she would be surprised if they were still bare when the sun dawned. She made her way catlike across the rooftop path before dropping silently into an unused chamber.

Skyhold was full of such nooks; roofs collapsed, floors on the verge, open to the starry sky if she climbed carefully enough to make it in in one piece. There were no ladders from the usable floors below, no way in save a quick walk across the rooftop. This was her favourite; almost directly below her room, overlooking the gardens on one side and the mountain valley on the other where the outer wall had crumbled away to almost nothing. There was enough of a roof left to shield her from rain, enough to secret away a small pile of blankets out of the elements for when sleeping within sturdy walls was more than she could bear. When the clan had stopped sending letters during the troubles with Wycome, she had spent her nights here curled up in the corner; when Solas disappeared, she had to force herself to leave at all.

She missed Lysis and Ellara; Lysis who had come to Haven at the Keeper's request when Kaelis first sent word, Ellara who had been with her as long as Varric and Cassandra. Her brother had returned to the clan, giving them word of the Inquisition and bringing back news out of Wycome— an important mission, but one that she and Josephine nonetheless resented. Ellara, back with the Cadash family, could bring back Carta contacts that would prove invaluable, no matter how much Kaelis and Iron Bull missed her in the meantime.

Just when she thought she was past Solas, the loss of him would shoot through her again like poison. She missed him. More than that, though, she missed her friends, her family. Until she drank from the Well, she had thought that perhaps, once Corypheus was dead and the world no longer in imminent danger, she could return to the clan, but that had changed. The voices of the Well had made it quite clear that her work was unfinished, and the continued business of the Inquisition, even clearer.

There was no going back, now.

Keeper Istimaethoriel had written to tell her of the arlathvhen, though; it would be expected that the First of the Lavellan clan would be there. If nothing else, she would have to formally relinquish her position to the Keeper's Second; and besides, if the Inquisitor— one of the best-respected elves in all of Thedas— refused to attend, it would reflect poorly both on the Inquisition and on the elves of Wycome.

Josephine had suggested sending a diplomatic delegation. She had meant herself and Lysis— Inquisition business, but a chance for the pair to get some much-needed alone time. But now, especially with Abelas a well-established member of Kaelis' inner circle, she saw no reason that they should go without her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would actually BE the plural of arlathvhen, anyway? (Lysis Lavellan belongs to greywarden-tabris.tumblr.com)

It took days to convince Josephine that the Inquisitor herself was the best delegate that the Inquisition could send. Of course, it would show proper respect to the event and its hosts, and of course it would set a firm example for the other cities of the Free Marches that Wycome and its inhabitants were to be respected— but the risk was, to say the least, not inconsiderable. The Inquisition had enemies. The  _Dalish_ had enemies. The Venatori were still a threat; even with Corypheus gone and much of their strength broken, their leader was cunning and ruthless, and had learned well from her former master. Kaelis listened diligently to Josephine's concerns and told her that she would be going to the arlathvhen, either with the Inquisition's support or without it, and she was far more likely to survive the journey to the heart of the Marches with said support.

Abelas was harder to convince. When she asked him to come with her, his response was a flat and nearly inarguable "No." It took her three days to cajole him into joining her; he had, after all, said he wanted to see what had become of the People, and where better to do that than at the gathering of the Dalish clans in a city full of elves? They left at dawn two days later, Kaelis, Abelas, Josephine, and a handful of Inquisition agents— most of them elves. Kaelis was in better spirits than she had been for the past six months.

It had been nearly ten months since the start of the troubles in Wycome; an elven child, conceived then, would be close to full-term now. Kaelis had never been to the city before, but she could only imagine how much it had changed. In the wake of Duke Antoine's death, much of the city's human population had left, and elves from neighbouring towns had flooded in. There were now more elves living in the city than humans, and while Wycome's human seneschal was still nominally in charge, it was Keeper Istimaethoriel and the alienage's hahren Sorian who truly ran the city.

With the outpouring of humans, many of the alienage's residents had moved into the upper city; their human neighbours who remained had either gotten used to it or left as well. The alienage had become an immigrant quarter, and with access to new, stronger materials through the city's trading network, old inhabitants and new had turned it into a livable neighbourhood.

Wycome wasn't merely enduring; it was  _thriving_.

The aravels could be seen from miles away down the High Road, red and blue and amber sails a splash of vibrant colour against the city's grey stone walls. The Inquisition delegates were met outside the city gates by the hahren, the Keeper, and the seneschal. Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, silver-shot hair twisting in the wind, smiled as she stepped forward to greet her apprentice.

"Aneth ara, da'len." She placed her hands on Kaelis' shoulders and kissed her cheeks. "I am so proud of you."

Kaelis felt tears prickling unexpectedly against her eyelids. "I've missed you, Keeper." Hesitating only a moment, she threw her arms around Istimaethoriel's thin shoulders. "I have so much to tell you."

* * *

 

It had been so long since she was among her own people-- their clothes, their food, their accents, all of it was like coming home. Seeing Dalish vallaslin alongside the unmarked faces of the city elves was unfamiliar but thrilling; in past years, the elves of the shemlen cities had been as willing to drive the clans off as the humans. And she was still unremarkable enough that, once she slipped free of the Inquisition guard, she could walk among them unrecognised, just one more Dalish elf among the throng.

It was Abelas who drew most of the attention. He could not be mistaken for anything but one of the People, and yet he towered over the rest of them; though still slender and lithe, he had nothing of the willowy fragility of the modern elves around him. And there was a curious sort of dismay in his eyes as he watched them watching him.

Kaelis glanced away from the market stall where she browsed and stepped closer to him. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

He didn't look at her. "I'm not sure." The back of her fingers brushed lightly against his knuckles and he started, looking down at her hand. "Everything is different," he said, speaking quietly in elvhen. "I knew it would be, but I had not considered just how different it would be."

Kaelis had to ball her hand into a fist to keep from wrapping her fingers around his. "A few thousand years makes a bit of a difference."

"Even in the old world it did, but this?" He shook his head, disbelieving. "What happened?"

"Time. Tevinter." She shrugged. "Probably a lot of bad luck and bad decisions as well." She forced herself to step away. "Let me know if you want to talk about it, alright?"

She was headed back towards the merchant's stall when she heard the chantry bells ringing the hour. "Fenedhis," she muttered, glancing down the street towards the alienage. There was a certain irony in the Keepers' conclave running on the chantry's timekeeping, but in this case at least the convenience outweighed the considerations of pride. "Abelas!" She motioned for him to follow her. "I might have mentioned you to Deshanna, told her enough to pique her interest. If I go in there without you, there may be a riot."

The expression on his face was not unlike that of a cat who has just caught on that it is about to be bathed. Nonetheless as ancient and venerable as he was, Kaelis was the only familiar thing in the city. When she threaded her way through the crowd, he followed.

The alienage was unusually spacious, a great open courtyard built around a centuries-old tree. The dry packed dirt showed the marks of buildings recently destroyed, the older and unsalvageable shacks that had formed the inner ring of the slum which had been removed as soon as their inhabitants had access to better houses. This was the heart of the arlathvhen; there were few unmarked faces here, and a large tent had been erected not far from the vhenadahl, crimson and ochre banners fluttering from the support lines. This was the first time that the Keepers' tent had been erected within city walls, and Kaelis  _stared_.

"Lethallin!" Her ear twitched at the voice and she spun around. Her brother stood near the open alienage gate, a wide grin on his face.

"Lysis!" She dropped all pretension of decorum and ran at him, covering the last few strides with a leap. He caught her and swung her around, laughing as she planted a kiss on the end of his nose.

"What took you so long in getting here?"

"Oh, you know— doing actual work, unlike some people." She grinned and raised her eyebrows at him. "Josie's here, by the way. She insisted on coming with me."

He grinned. "Missed me, did she?"

"No, I actually  _wanted_ her to come, so I didn't tell her you were here." She laughed as he rammed his shoulder into hers.

Before he could reply, Lysis caught sight of Abelas standing beneath the vhenadahl. "Kae, is that…?"

She rested her arm on his shoulder. "It is. It's a long story."

"Didn't expect he would ever deign to visit  _shemlen_  like us."

Kaelis sighed. "Oh, Creators, Lysis, please don't pick a fight with him." She grabbed her older brother's arm and tugged him along. "Come and talk to him, at least. He's not what I thought— not what you thought, either, I expect."

"Don't you need to go speak with the Keepers?"

"It can wait for a minute." Reluctantly, Lysis allowed her to drag him over to Abelas. Evidently he had neither forgotten nor forgiven Abelas' condescension in the temple towards the mortal descendants of the elvhen.

In truth Abelas looked more than a little lost standing under the great tree's drooping branches, observing the movement in the courtyard with a restless watchfulness that had nowhere to go. When he saw Kaelis he inclined his head in greeting. "Emissary."

"'Emissary'?" Lysis whispered beside her.

"I'll explain later." She dragged him forward. "Abelas, this is my brother, Lysis. He was with me in the Temple." Abelas nodded in recognition. "Lysis, this is Abelas. He has sworn himself to my service as the vessel of the Well of Sorrows."

Lysis shot her a look somewhere between amusement and outright disbelief. "Andaran atish'an," he said a little stiffly, holding out his hand at a gentle elbow from Kaelis. Abelas hesitated only briefly before clasping the younger man's forearm.

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Lysis was far from hotheaded, but he had fumed at being called a shemlen for days.

When she saw Keeper Istimaethoriel stick her head out of the Keepers' tent, she hurriedly pointed Lysis in the direction of Josephine's lodgings and hurried over with Abelas following closely. Deshanna arched an eyebrow at her. "Cutting it a bit close, aren't we, da'len?"

"Ir abelas, Keeper." Kaelis peered around the Keeper's shoulder into the crimson-shaded tent. "How much have you told them?"

"Enough to get their attention about your friend here." Deshanna looked at Abelas curiously, her vallaslin a mirror of his. "Is it true what my First has told me— that you have served Mythal since before the fall of Elvhenan? That the tales we have fought tooth and nail to cling to for centuries are all wrong? That—" She ran her fingertips absently over the tattoos on the backs of her hands and lowered her voice. "That the vallaslin were the brands of slaves?"

Abelas replied in elvhen, too fast and low for Kaelis to catch more than a fragment of meaning, and Istimaethoriel blinked in surprise. Nobody could be that fluent without firsthand knowledge of the language.

"I see," she said quietly before glancing over her shoulder. "You'd best come in, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I have a headcanon that elven gestation lasts slightly longer than human, as a result of their former immortality.
> 
> 2\. I really, really hate that lethallin/lethallan has a gendered division. It is completely unnecessary, so I've decided to ignore that it exists.
> 
> 3\. These nerds. These absolute nerds.


End file.
